The Spring and Summer After
by pay-your-hecking-taxes
Summary: (Sequel to Fresh Snow) Months after Stanley's escape, he is living a free life that is his and his alone. No one to tell him what to do or when. When a man wanders into town babbling about voices and endings, Stanley finds himself unable to walk away. Befriending the coworker is one thing, coming to terms with the voice that tormented you is another.
1. Muse

The snows of winter were melting and the grass, though very much dead, was starting to show beneath the formerly frigid covers of the previous months. Stanley opened his eyes and lay in bed, feeling and savoring the feeling of simply being in a bed. Turning over he looked out the windows at the yards of empty frost covered land. Stanley had a sort of aversion to the white stuff, especially when it just went on for seemingly forever, unless it was broken by something. Footprints, the woods that stretched beyond the horizon, a sidewalk. Anything to reassure him that yes, he was outside, he was really outside the confines of steel and concrete that had once been his office space and his prison.

That he was free.

When the blank witness of the outside was undisturbed for as far as he could see, a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't dispel. It would remind him too much of the white nothingness that he'd seen far too many times outside the windows of the office as he trudged through the halls more times than he'd ever had liked to. He had escaped in the autumn months, in the midsts of the trees shedding their colorful leaves as a farewell to the life filled seasons before it and a greeting to the cold dullness of winter and rest that would come after. Seeing those leaves, this indication of life at all, had been enough to make Stanley giddy, a deep peace filling him as if he had won, truly won, a prize worth more than all the material wealth in the world.

This happiness was soon replaced with a constant feel of pensiveness as Stanley waited to hear The Narrator's voice booming through his head, or doors to open. He feared that he had not escaped at all and in truth was still trapped in the office and all this was a cruel joke on the behalf of The Narrator. As fall changed into winter Stanley had not heard the voice nor been confronted with doors or hallways that forced him to choose, the former employee felt self assured with the fact that none of what he'd been worried about had actually happened. After that, Stanley's life was peaceful.

Stanley's stomach demanded that he get out of bed and feed it. Rolling off the mattress and leaving the warmth of last night on behind him, the cold floor greeted Stanley, reminding him that it was indeed winter. In case he had somehow forgotten or neglected to look outside.

Shuffling downstairs he rummaged through his modest but well packed kitchen in search of something to eat. Fixing himself something he sat down at his table with both food and coffee cup in hand. Flipping on the television, he listened absentmindedly. He didn't particularly want to watch anything but he didn't want to sit in complete silence.

The news lady appeared and Stanley paid particular attention to her. She was quite pretty in Stanley's opinion. The woman had a nice figure and lovely eyes. Stanley imagined that smelled like flowers or maybe the news. He had no idea what kind of smell 'the news' had but he imagined that she'd smell like it. Stanley would never admit it, but he had on more than one occasion imagined talking to her, making her laugh and winning her love.

This line of thought brought his mind over to a certain mannequin wife, the disappointment of finding nothing more than a shell of person. The Narrator's laugh echoed through his head, mocking him for thinking someone would even consider loving him much less marrying him. The sense of helplessness he felt when The Narrator stopped him from running away. Even if he had made it past the wall, where would he had gone? It was a lost cause, he'd been trapped the moment he picked up the phone.

Stanley was dragged out from that memory by the jarring sound of an annoyingly cheesy car commercial. While he was disappointed that he had spaced out through the anchorwoman's segment he was grateful that he'd come out of it and only wished he'd come out of it sooner.

As much as he hated to admit it, the flashback, and to a certain extent the Narrator, had made something clear to Stanley. He was very much alone with no friends or family to call his own. He didn't even know if had a family to begin with. Maybe he really was just a character made from nothing to serve as a mere plaything for an omnipotent entity.

He couldn't allow himself to be held back by the memories of what had been. To do so would mean The Narrator still held power over him even if he were free. In which, he never was free, was he?

Getting up from the table to put his dishes in the sink, Stanley decided that what he needed was to get outside. Nowadays, Stanley didn't like staying indoors for too long. Maybe he'd just take a stroll, see what the small part of Earth he called home had to offer. Maybe something interesting would happen, maybe he'd make a friend.


	2. Contemplation

Stanley lived in an abandoned farm house, on the outskirts of town. It was far enough from the city that it wouldn't bother him, but close enough that he could come and go without much trouble. Yes, he'd have to walk for some time before reaching the first bus stop but he could easily ride it into town so Stanley couldn't really complain unless it was too hot, too cold, too windy or what have you.

Today was cold but not freezing, so Stanley didn't mind it as much. His countless adventures had conditioned Stanley to be more than content with room the weather was unbearable at times. Adjusting to the real world could be difficult at times and even now Stanley found himself at odds with certain situations after having been so out of touch or unused to anything other than what the Narrator had set up for him before hand.

Stanley never knew how to describe the passage of time in the office. He almost would have questioned whether time existed at all. Such a thing was unimportant to Stanley as he'd learned though his various 'play troughs'. Clocks were useless back then and Stanley still didn't regard them as trustworthy even now. Had he never been hit with curiosity and checked on his former co workers he'd never had had a clue about the lives and times that had been stolen and left behind.

His throat tightened and felt almost sick with guilt. He knew that it was silly and foolish, that there was no use worrying and feeling bad for things he could not fix or had no power over. It didn't ease the guilt nearly as much as he'd hoped it would.

Stanley liked listening to the crunching of snow under his feet and the cold dry air that sapped him of his warmth and left him shivering. He took joy in the simple things although he considered himself to be a complex man. He hated how the sun always seemed to be staring him down, at times leaving the poor man almost blinded. The sun, he could do without. Light, he could not. This was something that he felt the office always got right, despite the eeriness of the white seemingly never ending void, there was almost always light and he never had to deal with these problems.

Stanley shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the notion. Normally, thoughts of the office never permeated his mind this regularly. Most days he was able to go without ever having thought about it, other days there would be things, small and insignificant that made him relive those moments and dwell upon that place yet again.

He hated the latter of the two. He hated how The Narrator and his story always seemed to be a part of him, how it made him feel suffocated just thinking about it. Thinking about it too much left him restless and in a foul mood so the former employee did his best to put it out of his mind when he found himself musing over the past.

Stanley was glad when the bus had come to pick him up, hopefully it would be the distraction he needed from this train of thought.

* * *

The city, well it was better to call it a town, had a homely feeling. It was quiet but busy with life. It was Stanley's kind of town. Had it not been so close to where he'd been kept for god knows how long, he would have stayed and started over. The streets were lined with shops and people went on by walking ever so obliviously as to what lay so close to them. Stanley sometimes thought about taking a part time job in this place. While he'd hate to admit it, Stanley still needed money. He could not afford to live completely off the grid. He also found himself with a familiar problem now and then. He had too much time on his hands and not nearly enough things to do with it that didn't require money.

Memories of The Narrator mocking Stanley for being too simple and stupid. Content with even the cheapest and shallowest lots in life so long as he had the most basic things and his crux, buttons.

It burned because it was somewhat true and Stanley hated to admit to it.

Approaching the crosswalk he melted in with the small group of people who were already there.

The little signal had yet to turn green but Stanley found himself knocked into the street by a man who'd been standing behind him.

The first man was as unhappy as Stanley had been about the whole ordeal.

"Look where you're going." He snapped at the passing man.

"It doesn't matter, does it? It's just another ending, it's going to end soon. It's going to restart, I'm going back." Came a distant, whimpering reply. The man seemed to ramble on to himself, oblivious at what had just happened.

He held a distinct heaviness in his voice, one of despair and defeat, mixed with a noticeable undercurrent of fear.

"You're crazy, are you on drugs or something?" Was the only rebuttal given, as the other fellow decided it was useless talking to a stranger who clearly not in the right state of mind.

The light turned green, yet Stanley found himself unable to move. It was almost as if he was glued to the spot. The words echoed through his ears.

'Endings.

Restarts.'

_It's just a coincidence, _he told himself, _Even if it's true, I'm not going to get involved._

Stanley reluctantly moved forward, he was already being passed by the large crowd that had been waiting behind him.

There was something about this man, this potential former employee that kept him looking back.

The 'employee' was altogether your average man with few distinguishing features to tell him apart from his coworkers aside from his apparent jumpiness. His whole being seemed to exude a paranoia about him, an easily exploitable weakness. Stanley tried to think, where he'd seen him before if he knew his number by chance.

If this wasn't just some elaborate ploy from The Narrator to drag him back, Stanley couldn't well leave the poor man alone to face a world he was sure didn't really exist. He'd been lucky to come out relatively fine after an indeterminable amount of time being stuck in the game, repeating offices and limited freedom.

Stanley could only grimace at the thought of what The Narrator put him through. Even if there had been no differences between what had happened to them, that this employee had simply been run through the same, albeit story lines-

Stanley's thoughts were cut short by the annoyed honks of the car behind him. The traffic light had turned green and Stanley had no business standing there in the middle of the street.

A split second to make his decision.

Stanley walked back to his side of the street, back to the employee. The drive flipped him off, but that was the least of his worries.

It took Stanley a minute to find him again, in the crowd of people but thankfully he had not wandered far. Stanley was going to have to keep an eye on this mnh if he didn't want him to get in trouble.

Politely dodging between people was easy enough, trying not to spook this new comer was another thing. He always kept walking with pensiveness, the same that Stanley often found himself doing soon after his own escape. He looked around anxiously, any minute now, he was expecting The Narrator to take him.

Stanley wondered how to begin this little endeavor of his.

The answer was simple.

"Hello." He said in the most friendly and gentle voice.

The employee stopped but did not reply.

Stanley stood in front of him, to get a better look at him. The fellow looked like your average citizen with no real distinguishing features to tell him apart. Pale feckless skin, brown hair and eyes he was the very embodiment of the phrase 'another brick in the wall.' Despite all these common traits that the newly freed employee had there was a distinctness about him. It was in the small and simple things. The way he carried himself, the way he talked, even the little quirks he seemed to have.

Stanley considered giving his name to the man, but stopped. What if The Narrator had mentioned him by name? It wouldn't be too out of the question, wouldn't it? After all it _was_ his parable. Would that scare him off or would that make him more likely to stay with him?

"What's your name?" He asked.

The man seemed to be very uncomfortable with this question. He didn't once look Stanley in the eyes except to get a fleeting glance that ended as soon as his eyes met Stanley's.

"Never mind." Stanley said quickly, "How about some food, coffee maybe? I'm sure you must be hungry. Or at least you want to get out of the cold?" Stanley shot out offer after offer, looking for something the employee might want.

The employee in turn only gave a timid but exhausted nod.

Stanley guided him to the nearest shop, all the while thinking of where to go from here.

A/N: Hey, so I meant to update a week or so ago but things happened. First I wanted to watch an LP, then the internet wouldn't work. Things will start to pick up in the next chapter. If you're wondering when The Narrator shows up, well, He isn't 432 in this fic. He'll show up after 432 has his arc, but all three of them will meet and interact in the future. So: Spring arc- 432, Summer Arc- The Narrator, Fall arc- Epilogue?


	3. Convincing

Stanley ushered his co worker into a nearby cafe. The place had a warm brownish gold glow to it. It was much nicer than the cold whiteness the office had, Stanley hoped that it would help the man settle in to his new environment. The cafe was small but had a quaint feel to it, the seats and table were made of wood, or at least something that resembled wood. The place was run by a grand total of about four people, the owner who ran the cash register, the cook in the back, the dishwasher and the waitress. The place was mostly empty, Stanley and the man were the only two, aside from the workers, who were under fifty.

The waitress, a bouncy and enthusiastic red head with as many freckles as were stars in the sky came over.

"Hey there, what can I get fer you and yer friend over there?" She asked with her southern drawl. She wore a name tag that read 'Lucy' in a neat cursive that wasn't too hard to read.

"I'll have something simple, a piece of cake perhaps?" He ordered casually. Even though it hadn't been that long since he had last eaten, Stanley did like the desserts they served here. He glanced over at the former employee, who was for the most part staring out the window with the occasional glance around the room or at Stanley. There was a certain nervousness to him that seemed to be almost contagious, Stanley could feel an uneasy feeling growing in him that seemed to eat away at him as well.

Lucy seemed to catch on to this as well, looking at him weird from under her large bushy frizz of hair.

"What's with him? Havn't seen him around before." Lucy asked, turning back to Stanley.

"Sorry, he's been like that since I met him. I'm sure he'll open up." Stanley explained apologetically.

The man in question seemed to flinch every time he was mentioned. It was obvious that the man didn't like being the center of any attention what so ever. Stanley would have been happy to oblige and just let the man be. However, this was not something he could just let happen. If he wanted to get any information out of him, Stanley was going to have to keep at it. He silently apologized to him and turned back to Lucy.

"How long _have _you known him, anyway?" She asked, stealing a glance every now and then.

"I just met him."

This earned a raised eyebrow of confusion from Lucy.

"Hun, are you sure that he's not acting all nervous because some person he's never met before follows him around and tries to feed him?" She asked, eyeing Stanley suspiciously.

"No, I-" The thought hadn't even occurred to Stanley that his method of approaching the employee had played a role in his being distant."-he was like that when I met him earlier. I'm sure he just needs a friend." He weakly explained, realizing how creepy he must have been coming off as.

"Do you usually go about randomly making friends with the first person you see outside?" She asked hands on her hips.

"Well...no."

Lucy studied him quietly for a moment.

"You're a strange person, Stanley. I don't understand you." She said, returning to her pad of paper. "Anyway, does he want something or is it just cake for you?"

"I think maybe some milk or tea, maybe get him a small pastry." He answered, glancing at the employee.

"I'll be back with your order in a bit, hun." Lucy replied and she disappeared.

Stanley was left alone with his silent companion once again.

"So.." He said slowly, trying to figure out how best to talk to him.

"Do you...have a name?" He asked. Surely, The Narrator must have told him this much, or perhaps he knew. It would certainly be easier than to refer to him by a name.

* * *

'Jim' knew his name was not Jim. He however, had no idea, no inkling of an idea of what his really was. He found himself with no shred of identity, no sense of self other than his number. It was a cold and faceless identity, but it was the only thing that he was certain of that was his.

The name 'Stanley' brought forth a good deal of ominousness. For too long he'd been tormented _because _of Stanley, or so he assumed from the Narrator's rambling, on a bad day. He had never met the man in question, if he had existed at all, but 432 had managed to put together some details, if not all hypothetical in nature. For starters, he'd learned Stanley had been the name of the previous employee and plaything of the Narrator and they had worked in the same building. The other, was that he had somehow escaped. This brought forth a flickering light of hope to 432. If Stanley had escaped, than 432 could potentially do it as well.

Stanley himself was in sitting in front of him. 432 was apprehensive as he always was, but there was something about Stanley, if this was indeed the Stanley he'd heard of numerous times, that brought 432 down to his senses. Maybe it was the fact that if this _was_ Stanley, then this meant that he'd escaped.

432 sat still and silent, contemplating what to do. He-he seemed nice enough, innocent and friendly. It would be rude of him to not say anything. The ever present cloud of fear hung over him.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to." Stanley assured him, offering him another smile. Despite his welcoming tone there was the unmistakable hint of disappointment in his voice. He'd heard to all too many times before, with The Narrator. He tensed, gripping his shirt as he began to panic. The employee could hear the Narrator's voice in his head. Despite not having a physical body, it was almost like he could hear the voice in his ear, breath on his skin. 432 broke out into a cold sweat as he lost awareness of where he was. Was at a coffee shop? Or was back in the office?  
He couldn't tell.

"Oh Jim, you didn't take the door on your left." The Narrator sighed, a facade of mild disappointment and formality hiding the burning disappointment and sneering just behind it.

"Oh well, I suppose that after the first thousand times, I can't expect you to start listening to me now. You're just as bad at listening to directions as Stanley was." The name was said with thinly concealed loathing.

Jim didn't notice it but Stanley seemed to have taken notice of how uncomfortable his companion was. How pale and sickly, how damp with sweat he was.

Stanley looked at him nervously, unsure of what to do.

He leaned over the table, lightly shaking him. "Hey, buddy." Stanley mentally cringed at the word buddy, it sounded so cheesy.

"You're not feeling well. Do you want to lie down or-or some water?"

Jim snapped out of it with a yelp, almost falling out of their booth onto the floor. Everyone in the coffee shop was looking at him now. Lucy came over, carrying a tray with their order in it.

She raised an eyebrow at the two.

"Stanley, hun, seriously, are you _sure _he's really-"  
Stanley cut her off hurriedly. "I think he just needs a glass of water."

"I think he needs _more _than a glass a water." She noted firmly, delivering their order. She was back with a cold glass of water five minutes later.

432 could feel everyone staring at him, their eyes burning into him. It was almost as if he could feel the disappointment and loathing coming from everyone in the building, hating him as he sat there, existing.

"Here, drink." Stanley said as he pushed the glass towards him. 432 drew back, they were judging him too, he could see it. Stanley probably wasn't Stanley at all, just another ruse of The Narrator. He wasn't free, he was still in the office, this was just another ending.  
"Calm down, _please." _Stanley said, trying to keep 432 in his seat and keep him from making a scene as much as possible.

"Nononono-This is just another ending, it-it's-"

"Listen, he can't hurt you out here." He said in a low voice, not wanting to explain an already difficult to believe story.

"Trust me, on this, please."

"How can I trust you, how do I know you're not _him_?" 432 hissed, he was like a cornered animal now. Stanley couldn't let him leave, not alone. If the former employee wandered about on his own under the delusion that he _was_ still in the office, then it would only end in disaster. He'd either end up dead or in a mental asylum, both of Stanley wouldn't be able to live with.

"You want proof? Alright..." Stanley sat back down into his seat. Lucy watched on, just as confused as one would expect an outsider to be. Most of the people had either left or gone back to their own business, a few gave curious glances now and then.  
"The employee looked outside and saw a giant purple and pink elephant riding a unicycle." Stanley said firmly and with as much authority as he could muster.

The coworker and Lucy both looked at him like he was out of his mind.

"Stanley, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Sorry, Lucy. M-maybe another time."

While the two were talking, Stanley could see the employee slowly looking outside the window from the corner of his eye. Stanley glanced out too, already knowing that no such thing would happen. Still a part of him wanted it happen.

Nothing, just a street.

The employee looked back at Stanley, eyeing him still but not as suspiciously.

"How do I know you're _not _keeping it from happening on purpose?" Was the next demand from the employees mouth.

"Elephants aren't pink _or _purple. They most certainly can't ride a unicycle." Stanley countered, hoping that logic would triumph.

His companion leaned back folding his arms, looking serious for once. "Yes but we've both seen and been through stranger things."

"Well, yes. That...that is true." Stanley faltered, conceding. The other man did have a point there.

"Look," Stanley said finally. They couldn't afford to sit around bickering and trying to out do the other in discussing whether this was really reality or not. " You don't have to believe me. But where will you go?"

The employee shifted uncomfortably. He probably hadn't thought that far ahead although Stanley couldn't say that he hadn't had the same problem as well when he first got out.

"Come back to my place and you don't have to stay there after morning comes. I'm just trying to help." Stanley offered to the nervous man.

"You have a choice. I mean it." He quickly added, keeping a calm tone of voice. He, now more than ever, _wanted_ the employee to say yes. Maybe it was because he'd have someone he could finally relate all his past experiences with, or maybe it was because he could help this poor man, knowing what he'd been through.

A desire for companionship. It suddenly came to light for Stanley, how lonely he truly was. Yes, he had the freedom to do as he pleased and he knew enough people around town but he was still alone.

It felt as if eternity stretched out in those few minutes. Waiting for the answer, the suspense almost killed Stanley. He wouldn't try to force him to come back, he'd understand if he said no.

"...I can leave if I want to? You-...you mean that?" He asked softly.

"Yes. Yes you can. I-I'd love it if you stayed but I'm not going to make you stay."

Silence permeated the space between them once more.

"Alright. Just-just one night."

Stanley couldn't have been happier.


	4. House WarmingFirst Night

Stanley and his coworker stepped outside into the chill air. The temperature was starting to drop as the sun was starting to lower into the sky. It may have had the hallmarks of spring but it was still very much winter otherwise. Stanley knew the bus routes by heart at this point, leading his companion to wait.

Stanley decided to make idle conversation while they were standing there.

"So, you never did tell me your name." Stanley asked, perusing the issue once again.

The man shifted anxiously, fidgeting with his hands, minutes passed without an answer.

"Forget it. It's not imp-"

"It's J-Jim." He answered at last, sitting on the bus stop bench.

Stanley stood there, before answering brightly.

"Jim, it's a nice name. Mine's Stanley." Stanley replied cheerfully.

Jim looked up, fatigued and confused.

"I know. You told me."

"Oh, um. Well, it's nice to meet you Jim." Stanley took a seat next to Jim, keeping in mind to give him some space.

The trees had few leaves on and the place was still pretty gray and dead. There was a nagging feeling in the back of Stanley's mind that he was forgetting something important.

"Do you have any plans?" He asked finally, at a lost for any actual topics of conversation that didn't involve the Office.

"Plans? Um...no. Not...not really."

That was the end of that, the two sat in silence once more.

Thankfully the bus showed up to take them home. Jim seemed to be a little more relaxed, looking around at the few people on the bus. They weren't the faceless mannequins or the fleeting faces of people mysteriously walking by for a split second. Stanley eyed him for a while before going back to his thoughts. Thoughts about all the things he wanted to do with Jim. Actual conversations at meal time, showing him movies-wait...that might actually be a bad idea for now, watching him slowly opening up and taking wonder in all the small things.

He hadn't even noticed when Jim had started to nod off.

...

* * *

Jim's eyes closed and he found himself plunged into darkness, for a few brief seconds he was aware that he was outside. The hum of the bus morphed into the hum of the lights, the machine. Jim found himself trapped in the office once more. A feeling of betrayal and shame. Shame that he'd believed that he had made it out. Just as he thought it was alright the story slammed the door shut in his face.

He felt himself falling down towards the ground, he could see the stairwell and the railings that were no longer any use to him. His mind knew what to expect, feeling all of his bones break against the concrete. The pain of having to drag yourself, or being dragged up the stairs by The Narrator to the top only to fall again.

"I thought you were smarter." The Narrator snarled in his head before he hit the ground.

Jim woke up in shock, eyes wet with tears.

Jim didn't know what to believe.

Freedom? Or just another trap?

In the end though, Jim knew it didn't really matter.

Stanley finally noticed that there was something amiss with Jim.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a lowered tone, trying not to draw attention of the few others on the bus. It was like the scene at the cafe all over again. Stanley wondered if this was going to be a common occurrence with Jim. Although could he blame him? Had he not been through a similar phase himself in the past?

'What did it matter.'

"We're almost there, don't worry." Stanley said, trying to reassure him. Jim stared back with empty eyes. It was all going to restart, he should have known from the start. He should have known better than to trust. The only thing he could trust was his gut feelings but he'd betrayed them and look what happened. He should have kept walking, walking until it just started over.

Surely, The Narrator would

'I thought you were smarter.' the voice echoed in his mind, disrupting it once more.

"Jim you don't look well." Stanley whispered, genuinely concerned. Stanley wondered if this was going to be a common occurrence, although Stanley understood what it was like but there was something about Jim that worried him. Stanley suddenly doubted his abilities, had he gotten in over his head? Could he really even help him? No doubt, there were people out there who were better equipped to deal with these sorts of things.

Jim slowly shook his head, the movement was so minute that had Stanley not been literally staring at Jim the whole time, he would have missed it. Jim was wide eyed. Stanley was unsure if he wanted to know what Jim had running through his head.

They got off the bus one stop later.

...

* * *

The two men walked through the dead grass together. It would be another few miles before they would reach home. Stanley would have waited on the bus like he usually did but he'd been worried about what would had happened if they stayed on the bus. Would Jim have another panic attack? It seemed like he was on the verge of it already. The coworker didn't seem to enjoy crowds and hoped that the solitude of the outdoors would supply him with the peace he needed. They had walked for what felt like hours and the sun was going down. The wind was getting colder. While Stanley was fine, having had a jacket, Jim only had what he'd left the office with. His simple dress shirt was no match for the dying winter wind, which still bite hard.

"Do you want to talk, Jim?"

"No." Was the only response the other man gave and that was the end of their conversation.

It was a long and lonely walk. Stanley couldn't have been happier to see his home again.

...

* * *

"We're home." Stanley said, opening the door for Jim. The house did not have much but it had what Stanley needed to be happy. The dining room had a light or two and the television was sitting at the other end. The dining room table was small, seating only four and sported a single proper dining room chair. Stanley had lived alone up to now, so it was never an issue. Now that he had a guest, one that he secretly hoped would be long term, this was something Stanley would have to address. Surely, there was another chair around here. If Jim didn't feel like eating and left the next morning then Stanley wouldn't even have to bother finding another chair.

Stanley felt a pang of guilt over this though. He'd promised to be here for him, to himself at least. Stanley wouldn't force Jim to eat but if he didn't want to but he'd try.

"Let me show you around." He continued.

Jim stepped through the door, shivering from his outdoor journey. He took a careful look around. It had a different 'air' to it, a different vibe. It didn't reek of the false abandonment of the offices or the foreboding and empty lure of choice, that had resided in the mind control machine. No, this place felt 'genuine'. This house had been lived in, had a true history to it. Jim calmed down, the doubt of his freedom subsiding but the fear never left him.

He relished the warmth of the house seeping into him.

Stanley's house was small but clearly intended for a family of three or four. Stanley was a family of one and thus it was rather empty. There was little furniture but Stanley was happy. He had just about everything he really needed and wanted. It had two floors, each with it's own bathroom, offering both men a sense of privacy. Aside from everything that one would expect a house to have, there was also a basement which Stanley had been into once. He claimed it was full of spiders and cobwebs and unless hell broke loose he had no intention to open that door.

"...And that's the house for you." Stanley finished, sitting on his bed, feet dangling over the edge. He smiled up at Jim. Maybe he was waiting for questions or had nothing else planned.

"It...it's nicer than the o-office." Jim commented, stumbling over the last word. It was the first time he'd actually said the word out loud, it left a nasty taste in his mouth, as if he could taste the horror of what it was just by saying it.

"But um...where am _I _going to sleep?" He asked timidly, feeling ashamed about asking about it. He felt as if he were throwing the hospitality that Stanley had showed him earlier by asking.

Stanley's face grew blank as he too realized, he had no place for Jim to stay that wasn't empty.  
"I-" There was the couch in the living room but that felt impersonal and cruel. On the other hand, Stanley could offer Jim to sleep in his own bed. Stanley wasn't sure how he felt about Jim sleeping in the same bed as him, or taking it over.

"-well..there's the couch or...or you could...stay here?" Stanley was at that point asking Jim more than answering.

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "I..I think I'll sleep on the couch." He answered. Jim didn't feel thrilled but the thought of sleeping next to someone so soon, and he didn't feel it was fair for him to take over Stanley's bed, even if had offered.

Stanley got up and dug around before pulling out a blanket.  
"It gets cold out here during the spring. It feels more like winter right now but the weather lady says it'll warm up in a few weeks." Stanley explained, handing Jim the covers.

Now that the introductions were over, the two were left standing there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Years of having no one else but a voice for company had dulled Stanley's social skills. Never before, from the day he'd first step foot into the sunlight, had Stanley had to entertain someone for so long.

"So..."

Jim looked down at the ground, still holding onto the blankets, feeling the softness of the cloth against his face.

"Jim, do you want to take a shower or um...watch some television?" Stanley started off, grabbing at ideas.

"How about food, are you feeling hungry?"

"Stanley...we just ate..." Jim pointed out timidly, feeling overwhelmed with all these questions and options suddenly being thrown at him.

"I...I guess I'll take a shower." He mentally cringed at how wimpy he sounded.

Even though Stanley had suggested it, he suddenly realized something else, that nagging feeling he'd had in the back of his mind since the moment he'd brought Jim home.

He had nothing for Jim. No bed, no clothes- or at least no underwear. Stanley was woefully under prepared for having a guest at his house. He felt like an idiot.

No, he could still fix this. He could still save this whole thing.

"Jim, you can borrow some of my clothes for tonight." Stanley said, trying to sound like he had actually had a plan.

"Oh um, I've got some spare toothbrushes around here too."

"T-thank you." Came another muffled response.

As Jim disappeared into the bathroom Stanley let out a sigh and headed downstairs to make dinner.

...

* * *

Jim closed the door behind him and just stood there, back against the wall, staring at the mirror in front of him. It was the first time in what felt like forever -or maybe it _was_ the first time that he was seeing himself. Jim was tired, it showed in his eyes, his body, everything. Even _he _felt he was pathetic looking.

Anxiously he undressed, keeping out of sight of the mirror. He didn't like having people stare at him, even if was just himself. Every moment in silence and solitude was weighted with apprehension, his whole being waiting for the voice to make a comment of some sort. To talk about how small and weak, how flimsy and unimpressive he was.

He clutched the towel tightly, breathing ragged breaths.

'I'm safe, I'm not in the office anymore, I'm safe.' He told himself over and over again. After all, the more times you repeated the lie, the more likely you were to believe that it was the truth, wasn't it?

He stayed like that for several minutes, until he felt more calm.

Jim hopped into the shower, thankfully the thoughts didn't return once he turned on the water. The former employee took notice of the sensation of water hitting his skin, wetting his hair. He basked in it all, committing it to memory, wanting to remember everything, every little detail.

Jim was almost reluctant to get out, it'd been so nice and relaxing. He felt at peace and surely the thoughts would come back to him once he left but no matter what he tried to tell himself, he could not justify staying in the shower forever. Stanley would have to come in and he'd get yelled at.

Stanley.

It'd only been a day at most and yet Jim felt a good deal of comfort with the man. Just hearing his name, thinking about him seemed to reassure him that he would be alright. Maybe this was why The N-

Jim's thought screeched to a halt as _he _entered his mind, threatening to undo everything, to steal the small amount of happiness Jim had finally managed to have. The very thought of The Narrator hung over Jim like a blade just waiting to sever Jim from this peace he had finally found.

But-but he had Stanley, he'd be alright.

The fear seemed to die down, just enough for Jim to push through and finally leave the bathroom and reunite with Stanley downstairs.

...

* * *

Stanley was not a fast cook, he'd only been living on his own for a few months. Yet, he was concerned by Jim's absence. It'd taken him half an hour to cook their dinner and the other man was still not there. Stanley wondered if he was alright, or if he'd fallen and couldn't get up.

He debated going up there and checking on him. The water was still running so maybe he was just getting used to showers, or perhaps he was trying to wash away the taint that was the office. A faint memory wafted up from the recesses of Stanley's mind, of how he'd stood in the shower, scrubbing away, trying to cleanse himself of the office's influence. If he was tied to the office, his very existence- he remembered the slow boiling panic inside him that first night. Stanley pushed the memory away, tonight was the night to be dealing with these things.

Just as Stanley was about to walk upstairs, he heard the door open.

He hurried back to the table, acting like everything had been alright.

"Dinner's ready. I hope you don't mind spaghetti." Stanley greeted, smiling at him.

Jim seemed to be much more at home now, a little less timid.

"It's fine." He answered, a steadiness in his voice.

He was starting to settle in already and Stanley couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Pride that he'd played a hand in this.

"Did you have trouble with the shower earlier?" Stanley asked tentatively.

"N-no." Jim answered. "It's just been...a while."

Stanley finished his mouthful of noodles before speaking again.

"Don't worry. It took me a while to adjust too. You're doing fine." Stanley said encouragingly, hiding the reemerging emotions again. He had to keep himself together.

His feet dangled over the floor. Stanley was short for a man, even Jim was a bit taller than he was. He didn't particularly mind at times, in fact he liked swinging his feet above the floor.

"Do you want to watch some tv?" He offered.

"Tv...?" Jim hesitated, eyeing the screen.

Stanley chastised himself for suggesting that. Even he knew he didn't take kindly to the screens so fast.

"You know what? It's fine. We can just tal-"  
"N-no it-it's fine."

There was a silence between them. Jim quietly ate his dinner, not making eye contact with Stanley. Stanley flipped it on.

The weather lady he liked came on, her flowing locks, her bright smile. Stanley could get lost staring at her. He wondered if there was a poster he could get, so he wouldn't have to wait for hours to see her again.

Jim must have noticed because he looked at Stanley weird.

"So um..do you...do you know her...?"

Stanley snapped out of his day dream, giving one last longing look at his beloved beauty.

"Hm? She's just the weather woman." Stanley explained sheepishly.

"...Do you...do you like her..?" He asked again.

Stanley was flustered. While he admitted to himself that he thought she was the most lovely thing he'd ever seen, Stanley wasn't just about ready to really admit that he had feelings for an image on the screen that didn't even know he existed.

"She's pretty." He countered, hoping the response was enough to keep Jim from asking more questions. "Why?"

"You just kept staring at her, that's all." Jim answered quietly before staring back down at his dinner.

There was not much conversation after that, with only the sounds of the television filling the distance between them.

...

* * *

After dinner Stanley stayed downstairs after they both had cleaned up. There was nothing on tv, but since Jim seemed to be comfortable enough with it, Stanley decided they could watch something.

Some sitcom was playing, Stanley had already seen this episode before. The main character was some guy who acted like he was on top of the world, that nothing could get him. He was convinced he was invincible.

Jim sat quietly, observing. He hadn't said or reacted to anything the whole time. Stanley kept shifting between watching the screen and watching Jim, waiting for a response. Any response at all.

A commercial finally came on.

"He's a lot like us, isn't he?" Jim spoke up suddenly as soon as the show took a break. Stanley muted the screen.

"Well, I doubt that either of us is that arrogant." Stanley chuckled.

Jim shook his head.

"He's trapped in there, living his life obliviously. Everything he can do and will do, it's scripted isn't it?"

"Well, yes. It's scripted. But it's not the same as us."

"How so?"

Stanley had expected this to happen, granted with more screaming and maybe some crying thrown in there.

"You see, he gets to leave in the end. There _is _an end. It ends eventually, they don't keep running repeats of the same show for so long."  
Jim wasn't convinced.

"But he still has to live through the same moments, over and over again. Out of his control."

Stanley sighed.

"No, it's not like us at all. Even the actors leave. It's not bringing character-people. It's not bringing people to life. It's using other people to bring them to life, to convey their expressions and emotions."

Jim looked at Stanley and asked earnestly.

"The Narrator, he did that to us too, didn't he? He _made _us, to play with. We aren't different."

"We weren't made, we had lives, we're living them right now." Stanley pressed. He'd found the missing people's page on the police website. He wasn't about to believe that this was another extension of the Narrator and his story. Not now, not after so long of being 'free'.

"...I guess so." Jim wanted to bring up that it wasn't that different in that regard then. That they were then merely the actors for The Narrator's story then.

But that would make Stanley mad, wouldn't it?  
"I'm sorry." Jim mumbled, not looking Stanley in the eyes.

Stanley sighed.

"Don't worry about it."

...

"I'm going to bed, night then Jim." Stanley suddenly felt very tired, this whole debate, something he'd had with himself before, was tiring and sucked out Stanley's will to do anything.

...

Stanley wondered if he'd hurt Jim's feelings, feeling a fleeting sense of guilt.

"Night.."

Stanley looked at him once more before climbing upstairs.

* * *

Jim was left in the dark, not willing to close his eyes. He'd turned off the tv once he'd heard Stanley get into bed. He didn't know what to do with it anyway. He lay there under his blankets, watching the darkness and the little light that remained dance and change into various shapes. Jim was tired, yes. Both physically and mentally. Yet he couldn't go to sleep.

Why?  
Was he afraid that it'd restart?  
The answer was obvious. Yes.

He could almost see the damned words 'the end is never the end...' along his vision. A chill ran up his spine , waving the words away, they lingered.

Jim had made up his mind, he wasn't going to sleep, at least not tonight. Sleep was a foreign concept to the employee anyhow. He'd felt mental exhaustion but he had never physically felt the need for sleep. Rest and idle time, yes he'd had those moments and on the rare moments when Jim caught the Narrator in a good mood, he'd received them.

He stared at the television in contemplation. There was no doubt nothing good on, somewhere in his memories told him there never was. Besides, what if he woke up Stanley?

He flopped over, now facing the couch instead of the openness of the living room.

Despite his initial determination his eyes fluttered, unable to keep them open he fell asleep.

...

_Jim didn't need a rest, not here in the office, no. It took care of all his physical needs. His mental needs however, were left unprovided for. After his nth playthrough, the employee decided to deviate from the pattern that he'd been following thus far since the 'game' started. Walking into the employee lounge he headed straight to the nearest couch and lay down in, face in the cushions. He couldn't breathe very well and he wasn't all that sure that it was sanity. They smelled funny._

_The Narrator stopped his dialogue._

_'Really, Jim? Are you just going to throw away the story for some cushions? If I'd had known you were so easily placated, I would have picked someone else.' _

_Jim ignored him. He needed to clear his mind. Even after having gotten several endings, Jim had lost track at this point, his mind still needed a break to really cope with what had happened. _

_First he'd been blown up, then he'd been led into that apartment with.._.her._..and then...then-all the paths seemed to fuse into one incoherent blob of a storyline if it could even be called that. Jim was more of the opinion that The Narrator wasn't all that good at his stories and were simply making things up as he went. Having run out of any fresh and viable ideas and too stubborn to let go, The Narrator simply ran through all the alternatives, convincing himself that this was indeed the way to go._

_It had become evident to The Narrator that Jim was not going to be leaving the couch anytime soon._

_'Well, it seems that you've made up your mind. I suppose there's no convincing you to leave that siren's call of a cushion. Perhaps I can try to get down on your level."_

_Suddenly Jim felt something on his back, it must not have been very hard or heavy because it didn't put a whole lot of pressure on Jim. He tried to lift his head only to find that it too was covered with a pillow. A copy of the same cushion he'd been laying on._

_The cushions starting pilling, Jim sat up, watching. Was The Narrator playing with him or was he trying to kill him this time?_

_It quickly became clear to Jim that The Narrator wasn't going to stop. Cushions filled the room, almost blocking the doors. Jim crawled over the towers of pillows and couches and cushions. Only to find that he'd been too late. Jim was swallowed by the cushions, pulling on the door in vain in hopes that The Narrator would give it up and let him out.  
It was to no avail, Jim found himself suffocated and crushed by them._

Jim awoke from the dream, a terrifying feeling of suffocation not unlike the dream. It was all in the past but it still bothered him deeply. He sat up suddenly. wrapping himself in the blanket before it occurred to him that The Narrator could just strangle him with that too, watching as he withered and clawed at the cloth in a desperate attempt to breath.

He shivered, throwing off the blankets and sat like that in the dark for several hours, feeling his heart slow down, back to it's normal heart rate.

This too, came to an end as his back began to ache and the chills of the cold floor numbed and bit him.

Giving up he wrapped himself in blankets again.

Jim finally laid still, watching the world regain it's color slowly, from gray to the full of life colors they'd been the night before. He'd wish that Stanley would wake up soon. His mind was...all over the place and his body was tired. Still, he refused the calls of sleep.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity and a half, Jim heard footsteps.

Stanley took one good look at him, his sleepy morning bed head was quickly replaced with confusion and intrigue.

"Jim...did you sleep at all last night?"

* * *

...

A/N: I can see myself heavily editing this chapter in the future but right now I can't think of anything.


	5. Morning Rescue

Morning Rescue

_A/N: TFW you haven't written TSP for almost two years and try to get back into it. I apologize for inconsistencies. More JimStan fluff than anything else. Next Chapter will have more plot. To the person who spammed me with 'Please Update!' While I understand and appreciate your enthusiasm, can you not do that? _

Stanley couldn't take his eyes off how red the former employee's eyes were, how he seemed to slump over, fatigue weighing on him. Stanley wasn't exactly sure what had been going on in the man's head last night, or what he could have done to help. Judging from his own experiences, he had an inkling of an idea, but did he dare to ask outright?

"Hey, Jim. You want some breakfast?" Stanley asked, concern slipping into his voice, despite his best efforts.

There was an uncomfortably long silence from Jim, as Stanley sorted the dishes from the dishwasher to their respective places. He was about to ask again, when Jim finally answered with another question.

"What are you making?" Came the slow, slightly confused reply.

"Well, there's-" Stanley was suddenly aware of how plain his meals were. It had never bothered him , however, that he had a guest, a sense of inadequacy crept over him. In fact, he could just about hear the Narrator making snide comments over the contents of his kitchen.

'_Stanley was a simple man. He liked repetition, depended on it. From his job pushing buttons day in and day out, to his meals, the same simple muffin for breakfast. Some days he would even shake it up a bit and go for cereal. Oh, what an excitingly mundane life Stanley lived.'_

Stanley frowned to himself, pushing _ him _from his mind. It wasn't unsurprising that The Narrator had started to crowd his thoughts as of yesterday, it didn't mean he had to enjoy it either. Stanley quickly closed the fridge, taking some eggs with him.

"Jim, how do you feel about French Toast?" He chirped, smirking at the thought of the Narrator in his mind looking disappointed, almost appalled at his choice.

'_Really Stanley? Something so juvenile? Not even a good cup of tea can save that._' The 'Narrator' continued to quip. If Stanley got nothing else from his time in The Office, the satisfaction of knowing how disappointed and borderline insulted he'd act to certain choices and actions that were much 'Stanley', helped the former protagonist get through the day. It was one of the positive things the Parable had left him with.

Jim blinked at Stanley, a puzzled look dominated his face, while he attempted to flatten out his bed head. "Uh, Sure."

* * *

Stanley prepared the meal, while Jim fumbled with setting up the table. Stanley knew what he needed to do, but the order to do them in concerned him. Stanley knew he was woefully under prepared to have Jim live him for the long run. Stanley had his own belongings, but what about Jim? He'd come with little and, although neither of them seemed to mind it right now, they could not continue to share the same clothes, Stanley simply did not have a large enough wardrobe for two men. He didn't particularly enjoy the thought of doing laundry twice a week either.

There was also the issue of food. This, was even more concerning to Stanley, to the both of them than mere clothes. They needed it to survive, after all. Stanley could stand to cook whatever he fancied on a whim, even if what he fancied that night was what he'd had the night before. Sometimes, it was what he'd had the week before, too. Whether this was influenced from his time in the never changing void of The Office, or due to his own nature as a person, Stanley didn't know. Would Jim be bothered by these strange little routines he had?

Stanley enjoyed having a simple routine,normally anyway. There was comfort in the familiar, an assuredness that this was what was supposed to happen. Routine could mean safety, was meant to mean it, stability was safe after all.

There were times where he'd catch himself doing these, day in, day out. Week in, week out, continuing into an sequence repeating itself until the parallels would be drawn. Similarities that reminded him too much of when he'd eagerly push buttons, unwillingly playing the game. Stanley tried not to let the memories get to him, tried to push past the Narrator's phantom presence. The former protagonist would feel lost and unsure of himself, directionless even.

Stanley pushed it all aside, something to deal with later, when he couldn't run from it anymore. Another unpleasant tangle of emotions, more debris to shift to when he's half asleep, or when his subconscious decides it's time to fixate itself on past problems. He shifted his attention to his breakfast, to Jim.

He flips on the TV, a welcome distraction from himself.

"So, Jim, how do you like your toast?" Stanley chirped, turning to his houseguest as a better source of conversation than with himself.

"It's good, I think. I...don't really remember what it's supposed to taste like." Jim confessed, still sounding a bit dazed.

"Well, at least it's edible." Stanley laughed, trying to make the atmosphere less sullen.

There was only the sound of the TV in the background, the two ate in silence.

"Are you okay, Jim?" Stanley finally asked. There was no use in dancing around the issue, there was no one else in the world they could discuss these with. These were unique experiences, after all.

"I-I'm..fine." Jim lied, after struggling with himself. He fidgeted with his hands, twisting the fork this way and that in a meaningless manner. The toast hung from his fork, dripping syrup slowly, as if time itself was paused, tuning into the conversation.

"Did you dream about _him_?" Stanley asked, not daring to mention The Narrator by name.

The other man flinched, terrorized by the sheer notion of him. He clutched his fork tightly, not caring that he got syrup on himself. A terrified look, a grimace was the only indication that he was still there, still involved in the conversation. His brown eyes seemed to stare off into nothingness, boring holes into his plate. It was almost as if he was trying to escape into them, away from The Narrator, the Parable- all of it.

"If it makes you feel better," Stanley said gently, unsure of how to approach the topic, " For what it's worth,I've dreamed about him too. It gets better, as time goes on. You think about it less." It wasn't much, but it was all Stanley could offer him. A shoulder of camaraderie, the simple knowledge that he wasn't alone.

Discussing the past was always difficult, something Stanley had never planned to discuss or even tell anyone. How could he, after all? Normal people would think he were crazy, and the ones who didn't had either experienced it first hand, or wasn't taking him seriously. If it weren't burned so deeply into his own psyche, his own memories, he would have wondered if he'd simply dreamed the whole thing up. Stanley, in all truthfulness, wasn't sure if it would make him feel better, if it had all been just a dream after all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stanley asked, gently, not wanting to push Jim.

Jim looked up at Stanley, their eyes meeting fully. He opened his mouth to say something, only to take it back. Glancing back down, he bit his lip, his brown bangs dipping in front of his eyes.

"..I...I don't know..it's too much to take in, Stanley. I just, I'm still not sure if it's all real. What if I'm still dreaming? What if -"

Stanley grabbed Jim's hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. It felt nice, to have someone else's hands in your own. He liked it, not knowing how much he missed the feeling of another person's' skin on his own. It was grounding, in a sense. A sign that they were truly here, that right now was real.

Jim stopped mid stutter, holding his breath. The two men stayed like that, perhaps for a moment too long. Somehow, Stanley had a feeling neither of them really minded.

"It's okay, Jim. You don't have to go through it alone. I want to help, but I'm not going to push you."

Jim squeezed back, glancing down at their hands once more. He was calmer now, but it was evident that fear and uncertainty was still on his mind.

"One step at a time, Jim. We'll do it together."

"...You mean it?" Jim asked with a steadier voice.

"I mean it."


End file.
